Power in Simplicity

“My heart is afraid that it will have to suffer,” the boy told the alchemist one night as they looked up at the moonless sky.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.”

- The Alchemist

A very good friend of mine, from JC, had presented to me the book The Alchemist for my birthday. That was in 2001. I had barely gotten past page 4 when I just couldn’t find the time to read it (unknown to this friend, but I’m sure she knows it now). So it just lay there, waiting for me for the last 7 years.

The book’s major premise is that what’s important is not the destination – it’s probably right under your feet – it’s really the journey. And in the journey one might find the most obscurest thing, but it might be the thing that changes your life forever.

I’ve never felt like reading the Alchemist – for reasons I don’t know. It’s not because it’s a bad book. My dear old friend has an excellent knack for gifts and she had chosen an international bestseller (no less) to present to one of her best friends. I’ve read in many articles that it is an acclaimed book. But I just couldn’t find time to read it. Perhaps it was my mistaken view that non-fiction books are more a worthwhile read than fiction.

Until… last week. For a while I’ve been undergoing a spiritual ebb. I’ve been reading many books familiar to me, but they are all too familiar to me. I know what they will say. They cover the same things I know, what I ought to know. But I was looking for something new, something fresh. Something that would appeal to something more than my mind.

The Alchemist spoke in very simple, but powerful language. I believe it would have given a different effect if read in another time or state of mind. Just like in the book where omens are shown at the appropriate times, I was brought to read this book not when first presented to me, but after 7 years, when it was the right time.

Among the many things that I got from the book, it was the very important fact that to worry about pain to come, is worse than the pain itself. What a simple yet true thing.

And of course, the journey towards the destination is always more important, and more meaningful, as my friend the Hoopoe always says. The Alchemist’s story says this in a powerful, yet simple and poetic way. I may not know the multitudes of other subtler messages that lie under the seemingly simple language, but what little I got from the book is enough for me for now.

Shake-up

The Tamil-speaking Indian Muslim community in my area (Telok Blangah and possibly other surrounding areas) needs to wake up. It needs to wake up to the needs of its children’s knowledge of the religion that they have been born into. If what I’m saying sounds like some anti-West tirade, it’s not really that, but get ready for something else. Because this needs to be said.

Our children spend 5 days a week in school, where they learn the usual mathematics and science and English and other things. They sit for tests and go about their lives through PSLE and other major examinations. All important, that’s a given.

But as Muslims, I believe we have a duty to find out who we are, and why we are so. I’m not talking about nationhood and citizenry – national education and social studies more than take care of that.

I’m talking about the Muslim identity and our 1,400 years of history, the teachings of the Prophet (s.a.w.), the beauty of the religion, the ways to attain the pleasure of Allah. Never mind if their heart doesn’t accept many of these elements immediately – some things take time to accept - at least plant the some seeds that might germinate later on.

Our small community here doesn’t seem to think this is important. The amount of importance they attach to this portion of their children’s lives can be seen from their tolerance of the current situation of learning. So what’s so wrong with the existing regime?

These kids attend weekend classes at the mosque, on Saturdays and Sundays, from about 2.30 pm till about 5.30 pm. Here, they learn how to read Arabic script, in order to recite the Holy Book, but only that.

Recite in its most rudimentary form, but not understand a single word of God’s.

If they cannot recite fluently, they are told to practice at home. But do they do so at home? No, they don’t. How do we know this? Every week, they come back to the class, not knowing the same things taught to them the week before. Why even go that far? They don’t even remember what was taught to them half-an-hour before. As a result, many kids either drop out without being able to read the Qur’an, or learn to recite the Qur’an full of uncorrected mistakes after 8 years of being in the class.

Am I missing something here? Surely, the most complex subjects require more than 8 years - nay - one’s whole lifetime to learn. But 8 years to finish merely reciting (and not understanding yet) the holy book? It’s preposterous. It clearly shows that either the students are not motivated to learn, or they don’t mind attending a weekend class for 8 years, or the teachers are not doing something right. Or it’s a mixture of all three, which suggests a fundamental systems error.

The children also learn about other important facets of Islam, such as hadith, or fiqh. But these are done on an ad-hoc, convenience basis. There is no thorough follow-through or tracking of a syllabus. Hey – there isn’t even a proper lesson plan. There are no tests, exams, or meaningful discussions on what it means to be a Muslim. I suspect that parents are under the horribly mistaken notion that after their kid finishes reciting the Qur’an after 8 years, he or she has the fundamentals of Islam and is ready to face the big bad ugly world with his or her polytechnic diploma or University degree.

What the Indian Muslim community at my place really needs now is a big shake-up and a kick in the butt to wake up and open its eyes. Parents need to know that their children need a much higher quality of Islamic education, on par with the teaching pedagogy of primary, secondary or tertiary level.

MUIS in Singapore has taken a promising step with the aLive Programme. Somehow my community here isn’t making use of it. Parents seem content that their kid is away for about three hours each weekend afternoon where they can get some shut-eye or whatever.

Coming from someone in the existing regime – I used to be a student and then later, a teaching assistant – these things are glaring into my face. With God’s grace, I have been given the responsibility to run a class on my own. But I lack the elementary credentials that the community so craves – that of an Ustaz. That is a position I believe I cannot reach in the near future, with my full-time job, considering the high regard that I have for the title “Ustaz”. So I do what I can in my capacity as a “facilitator” – I don’t directly teach things that I am not fully aware of, but I attempt to point the children in the right direction and plant the seeds of contemplation in their young years, so that when they are older, Insha Allah, they will recollect the times they spent in my class and go “Now, it makes sense. Alhamdulillah, that brother indeed taught me something others did not.”

One person may not be able to change the system. But I just pray that the parents will question themselves and ask if their children deserve a much more comprehensive Islamic learning syllabus and environment, or be content that their kids receives some on-the-surface knowledge of reciting Arabic.